


First Do No Harm

by sainnis



Series: Medschool Boys [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/pseuds/sainnis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uryuu disappears.  Ichigo panics.  Renji and Rukia swoop in, and Urahara is tricky.</p><p>The second story in the Medschool Boys series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Do No Harm

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://kytzia.livejournal.com/profile)[**kytzia**](http://kytzia.livejournal.com/) as part of the New Years 2009/10 Exchange at [](http://ishi-ichi.livejournal.com/profile)[**ishi_ichi**](http://ishi-ichi.livejournal.com/). Thanks also to [](http://nyagosstar.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nyagosstar.livejournal.com/)**nyagosstar** , speedy beta extraordinaire. <3

_As surgeons, there are times when all you see is a body on a table. Faceless. Nameless. You make the cut, you repair the damage, you suture the wound and call it a day. Names and faces are not necessary to save lives._

Uryuu blinked as he walked into the bright sunlight, the automatic doors shutting behind him. He paused for a moment on the front steps of the hospital, watching his breath turn to vapor in the freezing air, tasting the chill on his tongue. A rare snowstorm had blown in over Karakura, and though six inches was hardly a blizzard, people seemed to think the world was coming to an end. The last fifteen of his thirty hour shift had been a marathon of weather-related injuries.

The cold wind blew right through his scrubs, and Uryuu yanked on his coat, pulling his hat down low over his forehead as he walked down the steps across the parking lot. His sneakers slowed him down considerably, as the lot was presently more ice than concrete, and his scuffed rubber soles seemed to find every slippery patch. Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, he turned his face down, trying to stay out of the wind. It wasn’t a particularly long walk back to his apartment, but on cold days, it certainly felt like one.

He sensed reiatsu nearby, and he smiled. Even with all his years of training, Ichigo still had all the restraint of a small child in a fancy restaurant. Uryuu stopped walking, and instead watched Ichigo as he rounded the corner, walking down the street towards him. His hair looked somehow even brighter than usual against the snow-covered streets, flaring out from around the ridiculous earmuffs he insisted on wearing. He held a cup of coffee in each hand, and steam rose furiously from each. Despite the fact the surgical interns were supposed to wear blue or green, Ichigo had chosen yet again to wear black scrubs. He kicked through the snow in battered green army boots that he’d liberated from a thrift store. It was a pity that Ichigo, when left to his own devices, was often no better than Renji in the clothing department.

Ichigo pressed a cardboard cup into Uryuu’s hand and a kiss against his cheek. His lips were warm, and he smelled like coffee beans and vanilla. “Straight black, no milk, no sugar.”

“Thank you.” Uryuu took a sip, closing his eyes. “You went to the expensive place! You’d think they’d be out of the holiday cups by now, though, wouldn’t you?” He drank again, letting slip a pleased groan. “This almost makes up for the buckets of hospital crap I drank last night.”

Ichigo sniffed. “You lucky bastard. I can’t believe you got a freaking snowstorm. How many surgeries did you get?”

“I only scrubbed in on two, and they weren’t anything special. Just a rotator cuff and a hernia repair. Nothing cardio. Sort of sucked.” Uryuu shrugged. “It did get me out of the ER though. It was suture central down there.”

“You’re not on call today, though, right?”

“Nope.” Uryuu smiled, lifting his coffee in salute. “It’s just me and the bed and the phone off the hook.”

“Good,” Ichigo said, “because you look like hell.”

“I’m not the one in army boots.”

“Don’t hate on my boots.”

“Did you pull a dead soldier out of them?

Ichigo scoffed. “They’re retro!”

Uryuu leaned in and kissed him before he could defend his fashion choices any further, and for a moment, he almost begged Ichigo to call out sick. It felt like ages since they’d actually slept beside one another, and he hated being the only one in bed on cold days like this.

Ichigo’s pager buzzed, and he groaned, pulling away. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to run.”

“Good luck. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Get some sleep, would you?” He turned to go, and then gave Uryuu a sheepish grin. “Oh, just so you know…if you’re looking for the leftovers, don’t bother. I ate them. Sorry!” He broke into an easy run, calling out his goodbye over his shoulder.

Uryuu watched him for a moment, and then turned towards home. It had actually been Ichigo’s old place, though it had taken months for Uryuu to finally give up his own lease. He missed the hardwood floors of his old flat, the windows facing east, and the way his upstairs neighbor only ever played quiet classical music. It had been too far from the hospital, though, and a one bedroom just wasn’t quite enough space to contain Ichigo.

By the time he was halfway home, Uryuu’s sneakers were already soaked through by the snow, making him even more miserably cold than he already was. He decided to take the shortcut home through the alley, which would shave off at least a few minutes from his trek. Crunching his way through the dirty snow, he felt the skin of his calves begin to numb with cold, and he wished he’d taken the extra five minutes before leaving the hospital to change out of his scrubs.

 _Warm shower,_ he thought. _Make that hot. Bed. Sleep. Then food._

Uryuu was halfway down the alley when he heard the crash. He turned, moving quickly towards the source of the sound. When he reached the end of the alley, he saw the van, its front end smashed up against the wall.

All thoughts of bed banished, he ran to the vehicle, opening the door on the driver’s side. Though the driver wasn’t conscious enough to answer any of Uryuu’s questions, the man was breathing, and his vitals were good. He pulled out his cell phone, and in the process dropped his coffee, which splattered across the snow. Swearing, he started to dial for help, but a cry from the back of the van distracted him.

“Is someone back there?” Uryuu yanked the side door open, and he climbed inside. It was darker than he expected, as the vehicle had no windows on the side, like some sort of company van. “Hello?”

Several things happened at once, and it was difficult to distinguish which came first. There was the unpleasant sting of something sharp in his side, and a sudden cold weight around his neck. He tried to shout, but his muscles betrayed him, and he collapsed on the floor of the van. Struggling to keep his wits, Uryuu tried to summon his powers, but he couldn’t even reach out to gather the spirit particles. He lay gasping, unable to move, unable to see in the darkness.

He heard a voice; the speaker was behind him. “Not out yet. He needs another dose.”

He felt another sharp sting, and then he felt nothing.

**

_If you’re going to make it as a doctor, the first rule is never lose it in front of a patient. You don’t yell, you don’t cry, you don’t get mad, no matter what. Stay calm. Breathe deep. Walk away. Angry doctors and emotional doctors get sued. Never, ever lose it._

Ichigo dialed Uryuu’s cell, but it went straight to voicemail. He punched the end call button and dialed again.

“You’ve reached Ishida Uryuu. Please leave your message after the tone.”

He sat on the couch, the one that Uryuu threatened to throw away whenever their street had special trash collection for large items, and dialed once more. This had been going on for the better part of the last hour, and in between phone calls, Ichigo had gone through every room, dumping trash cans as he went, scattering mail. He finally caved and checked Uryuu’s email, something he vowed he’d never do even after his lover accidentally spilled the password during a very drunk evening last fall. Though he found himself fearing the worst-- _oh my god after everything we’ve been through he’s left me_ —all Ichigo discovered was a few online coupons for fabric and the receipt for his last iTunes purchase.

Taking a steadying breath, Ichigo opened his phone again, but this time dialed Karakura General. After he reached the front desk, he asked for Kotone, and waited on hold for longer than he expected.

The call finally connected, and he heard her surprised voice. “Dr. Kurosaki? I thought you went home already.”

“I did.” Ichigo pressed his fingertips against his temples. “Listen. I need a favor, and I need you to know that I’m asking you this question because I trust you.”

Kotone had been a nurse at Karakura long enough to remember Uryuu’s mother, and she wasn’t one to make idle gossip. “What can I do?”

“I need you to find out if,” Ichigo paused, afraid to say the words aloud. “Can you please check to see if a patient’s name is in the system?”

“What name?”

“Ishida Uryuu.”

Kotone said nothing, and Ichigo could hear the faint clacking of the keyboard through the receiver. If Uryuu had been taken to any of the hospitals nearby—Karakura or otherwise—his name would appear in the computer.

“His name isn’t listed,” Kotone said quietly. “I checked the police records as well; there’s nothing. Is there anything else I can do, Doctor?”

“No. I appreciate your time.”

“Sir, is everything all right?”

“It’s nothing. Just forget that I called.” Ichigo said a quick goodbye, folding the phone between his hands. He rose to his feet, walking to their bedroom closet, and he pulled out another phone, pressing the call button. This one only called a single number, and he swallowed, waiting for a response.

There was a muffled groan on the line, followed by a mumbled hello.

“Rukia?”

“Ichigo?”

“Did I wake you?”

He heard her clearing her throat before she spoke. “No. Nope. I’m awake. Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” He paused, trying to figure out what to say. “Listen. I’m sorry to bother you, but I don’t know who else to call.”

“Did your sub not show up again? Seriously, what the hell is his problem? I’m going to give that asshole a piece of my—“

“It’s not that. It’s Uryuu.”

“What? What happened?”

“He’s not here. He never came home from work the day before yesterday. I was on shift and I didn’t know it until I just got home, but there’s no trace of him. No one’s seen him for two days. I’ve called the neighbor and the hospital and I’ve called him dozens of times but there’s no answer—“

“He’s not at his old place? At a friend’s? Rukia’s voice was quiet, uncertain.

“No. Absolutely not. He gave up his flat.” Ichigo drew a ragged breath. “I know that I’m shit at this sort of thing, but when I tell you that he’s not here I mean _he’s not here_. Like his spiritual energy…whatever I can get of it…it’s just not right.”

“Stay calm. I’ll be right there.”

**

_Medicine is about facts, and science, and tests. It’s mathematical formulas and memorized diagrams and unchanging patterns that have been proven time and time again. Yet it’s also about instinct, and trusting that instinct when the circumstances call for it. The practice of medicine lies somewhere between what we know in our heads and what we know in our guts._

“What do you mean he’s here but he isn’t?” Ichigo’s voice came out closer to a shout, and Rukia frowned.

Renji spoke again, ignoring Ichigo’s increase in volume. “I mean that it’s true that his spiritual energy isn’t gone, but it’s definitely not here. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

Renji sighed, turning towards Rukia. “You’re always better at this kind of thing.”

“What he’s trying to say is that Ishida’s spiritual energy has been somehow reflected, if that makes sense. I believe he’s alive, but wherever he is, the energy that we can sense is like an echo. It’s being scattered and it’s pretty much impossible to tell where it’s coming from.” She looked up at him, her expression both sad and kind. “You wouldn’t have noticed that it changed. Whoever did this must know you have a difficult time sensing others, and they used this decoy method to keep your suspicions from being aroused.”

“So Uryuu is somewhere, you think, and whoever has him is fucking with his spiritual energy?” Ichigo reached for his badge. “It’s that bastard Mayuri. I know it. I don’t know why the fuck you even think that he deserves to walk around freely, let alone be a Captain—“

Renji stopped him. “Kurotsuchi didn’t do it.”

“He killed thousands of Quincy! There’s only a hundred left! You think he’s not out to finish his collection?”

Rukia shook her head. “He knows the Quincy are off limits. Soul Society is trying to prevent a war with them, remember? Besides, Kurotsuchi is in Fourth Division. There was an explosion several days ago in the Twelfth, and he was severely injured. If Unohana’s healing him, you’d better believe he’s in bad shape.”

Collapsing into a kitchen chair, Ichigo closed his eyes. “I thought we were done with all this. We already fought a war.”

Rukia sat beside him, resting her hand on his arm. “We’ll find him. He’s alive and we will find him.”

“How the hell are we going to do that?”

Renji leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. “He must have enemies.”

Ichigo smiled ruefully. “You mean besides Shinigami? And every other surgical intern at Karakura except for me?”

“What about his father? Are they in contact?” Rukia asked.

“Ryuuken’s in London for a medical conference. He left last week.” Ichigo sighed. “My father’s there as well. He took my sisters on holiday while he drinks too much and doesn’t attend lectures.”

“There hasn’t been a Hollow attack in Karakura this week,” Rukia said, opening her phone and confirming her words. “As far as the reports go, there hasn’t been any Shinigami activity here either. If that’s true, which is what the data is saying, it means whomever has him isn’t involved with either.”

Ichigo lifted his head. “Are you suggesting he was abducted by criminals? Robbed at gunpoint or something?”

“I ‘m not suggesting anything. Humans don’t have access to anything that would be able to disperse his spiritual energy like this.” Rukia brushed her bangs away from her forehead. “Strike that. Regular humans don’t. You’re living proof there’s a lot of variation when it comes to humans.”

Renji shrugged. “So’s Ishida. How do you know it wasn’t the Quincy?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Ichigo scoffed. “Why would any Quincy out there want to fuck with Uryuu? He could kick all their asses.”

“Do you have any contact with the rest of the Quincy? Does Ryuuken?” Rukia fiddled with her phone, bringing up some sort of graphics that Ichigo couldn’t interpret.

“No. Ryuuken hates being a Quincy; he refuses to have anything to do with them.” Ichigo drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Uryuu tried meeting with a few of the elder Quincy a few years back. They refused to see him. They don’t want to meet with him because of his involvement with Shinigami.”

“That’s motive enough,” Rukia said. “We need to find them.” She stood, adjusting her zanpaktou. “Renji and I will go on patrol. They’ve got to be leaving some sort of trace somewhere. You should stay here and rest.”

Ichigo touched his badge, leaving his physical body slumped in the chair. “Right. I’m sure if it were Renji lost out there you’d stay behind as well.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” They leapt from the balcony into the dark streets below.

**

_Pain pushes patients in directions they never anticipated. Stoic men may weep; refined grandmothers may swear. It is your responsibility to never let it push them too far. Some pain is expected, even necessary, but never more than your patient can handle._

There was blood on his scrubs now; that was new. He couldn’t see very well in the dark room—not to mention his glasses were gone—but he could see the stains in the dim light flickering overhead. It wasn’t very much blood, however, which meant they weren’t done with him yet.

He knew what they wanted. He’d read all of Soken’s journals, hidden in the training rooms beneath the hospital. His grandfather told him everything his own father would not, passed on a legacy that Ryuuken would have denied him given the choice. He knew the history of the Quincy better than his captors ever would, and he knew what it was they intended.

He exhaled, struck by the sharp pain in his chest. They’d fractured a rib or two; it was difficult to tell. The cuffs around his wrists and the collar at his throat gave off a low hum, and besides blocking his access to all the spirit particles around him, the pitch was maddening. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been here—perhaps four days? More?—but he’d had nothing to eat, and barely anything to drink.

The holding cell was cold, and he shivered, groaning as the sudden movement made his ribs scream. He thought of their bed, thought of the throw pillows he’d made that made Ichigo insane, thought of the nights they spent pulling all-nighers in med school where they swore it would be only studying and no sex (but there always was). Ichigo, with his infectious grin and his wicked mouth and his reiatsu, oh God, that reiatsu. It was debilitating enough, Uryuu thought, not to be able to use his powers, but not to be able to feel that reiatsu…it was like losing his senses.

He was quite certain at this point that his captors were not seeking his death, but that brought him little comfort. He had only one option now, if they decided to follow this through, and he didn’t know if he had the strength left to do it. Lying on his back, he closed his eyes, willing his pulse to slow. There was power in him still, despite their attempts to weaken him, and if he saved it until the last moment, it would be enough.

A voice spoke in his mind, one that had become familiar to him. _I heard your call, Ishida Uryuu. Is it time?_

 _Almost._ Uryuu took a shallow breath. _Are you sure you can get me to him?_

_There will be enough power to transport you close to him. I do not make promises I cannot keep._

_I believe it._ He could hear the sound of someone walking down the corridor to his cell. _Thank you._

Two of them appeared, and though his vision betrayed him, he could see their weapons well enough. It took him much longer to stagger down the hallway this time; every step made him want to howl, but he didn’t make a sound. They secured him to a metal chair that was bolted to the floor, and he felt his lips twitch into a half-smile. Did they honestly think him so dangerous?

They were muttering amongst themselves, and he saw the spread of books on the table nearby. He didn’t have to see the pages to know what the diagrams were, what the words said. This was forbidden. The Quincy weren’t cannibals like the Hollow, devouring each other to gain power. Stealing the power of another Quincy was barbaric, unthinkable.

It would take six of them to work the kido, all simultaneous shots. The odds of them succeeding, he supposed, were not in their favor, but if they did fail, they’d try again. Uryuu knew his own limits— _Ryuuken made sure of that_ —and he knew he would only survive one round. If he couldn’t make his counterstrike at precisely the right moment, his life would be over.

The archers arrived, all six in proper Quincy attire, lined up across the room from where his chair was anchored. They didn’t speak to him, didn’t even look at him. They spoke quietly to each other, their movements furtive. One of the older ones came to stand by Uryuu, reaching over to remove the cuffs from his wrists and throat. He hadn’t anticipated the overwhelming rush of his own powers flooding through him, and for a moment, he feared he would faint. He screamed at himself within his own mind, forcing his eyes open. _You can’t pass out. Stay awake. Just a few more seconds…_

The archers lifted their bows, each pointed at his chest.

_Now, Ishida Uryuu?_

Uryuu smiled. _Now._

The last thing he remembered was the six perfect shots, bringing with them an arc of pain he hadn’t thought possible. He closed his eyes, and then he no longer remained.

**

_It is imperative as a surgeon to learn how to deliver bad news. Prepare yourself; practice if necessary. Speak kindly, but plainly. Don’t linger once you’ve delivered the news; they don’t want your platitudes._

It had been five days.

Ichigo shut the door to his flat behind him, stepping out into the freezing cold. He wasn’t used to being back in his own body quite yet; everything felt a little too loud, a little too harsh. He’d left Rukia and Renji asleep, one curled around the other on the couch beneath a cross-embroidered blanket. Though he’d tried to sleep, the bed felt cold and enormous, and the faint smell of Uryuu’s shampoo on the pillow made his chest hurt.

They’d combed Karakura for two days straight, seeking any sign of Uryuu, or any Quincy, for that matter. They stopped by the Urahara Shoten, hoping for news, but the shop was closed. The more exhausted they got, the less ground they covered, and Rukia finally called for a few hours’ sleep. It was fucking maddening that after all he’d done for stupid Soul Society that the best they could do was two Shinigami that were technically breaking rank just by showing up. As if Uryuu hadn’t been there too, nearly giving up his life on behalf of the people who up until recently had been using Quincy as lab rats.

There was a dull ache in his belly—right, this body needed to eat—and a more powerful ache in his head. He walked through the dirty snow to the high street, joining the line at the expensive coffee place. Rukia had a fondness for real world latte, and as their plan was to head back out on their search within the hour, Ichigo figured it was the least he could do.

_Is this what life is going to be like? Waiting for word that may never come? Going back to the hospital to save lives of people I don’t even know? How am I supposed to function without him?_

The line took forever, and when he finally emerged twenty minutes later with a cardboard carrying tray, he had almost gotten warm. Tugging his scarf more closely around his neck, Ichigo walked back the way he came, cutting through the alley to avoid the wind. He was already mapping out their next search in his mind, doubling back over places they might have overlooked, when he saw something up ahead in the snow.

The sun was up, but only just, and it was difficult to see in the darkness between the buildings. Ichigo picked up his pace, unsure what he was seeing. There were sometimes homeless living in the alley, and he usually kept his coffee change in his pocket to give away. He moved closer, ready to pull out his money, when he saw the scrubs.

“Uryuu?” Ichigo dropped the tray, running towards the figure sprawled in the snow. “Uryuu!”

Ichigo could hear Uryuu’s labored breathing as he fell to his knees beside him, and even in the dim light he could see the blood on his scrubs. He spoke softly, murmuring little calming phrases as he felt the weak, rapid pulse at Uryuu’s throat. There was a raw circle around his neck, almost as if he’d been burned, with matching circles around each wrist. A thin line of blood ran from his temple, and Ichigo pulled off his scarf, pressing it against the wound. With his free hand, he lifted the hem of the stained scrub shirt, Ichigo found small round wounds scattered across Uryuu’s chest, and he felt his own breathing stop. _Spirit arrows…oh my god…_

Tearing off his jacket, Ichigo spread it over Uryuu’s body. He couldn’t tell how long Uryuu had been lying in the snow, but given his state, he needed to get Uryuu somewhere safe and warm as soon as possible, and he knew it couldn’t be Karakura General. _They’ve never seen injuries like this…it’s too dangerous to even think about._

He gathered Uryuu into his arms as gently as he could, pressing a kiss against his forehead, feeling how cold his skin was. “Hold on. It’s going to be okay.” Preparing himself to shunpo, he realized a moment later that he was still in his body. “Fuck!”

“Ichigo!”

He looked up, surprised to see Renji and Rukia jumping down from the rooftop above. “How did you—“

“You think everyone for fifty miles didn’t feel your reiatsu freak out?” Renji said. “How is he?”

“I don’t know…he’s alive, but--”

“Where do you want to take him?”

“Dammit, Urahara…” Ichigo sighed. “Let’s take him to my father’s clinic. It’s closed for the week…we’ll be safe there.”

Rukia and Renji came alongside him, and in moments they’d crossed town, standing behind Ichigo’s former home. They got Uryuu inside, and Ichigo started issuing orders. “Renji, get him on that bed. Rukia, there’re blankets in the cupboard over there. Grab me a bag of normal saline; it’s by the sink.”

Ichigo took a breath, finally feeling like he could do something useful. It was a relief to let muscle memory take over, pushing all thoughts of anger and despair back down as he deftly placed an IV. His father’s clinic was nowhere near as equipped as the ER, but the last few years had been good to them, and he’d updated some of his equipment. He hooked Uryuu up to the portable heart monitor, frowning at the erratic rhythm that flashed across the screen. Uryuu was clearly dehydrated, and the blood loss only made matters worse.

“Rukia, can you please hold this here?” He pressed gauze into her hands, guiding it against the cut at Uryuu’s temple. “It’s not deep, but it’ll keep bleeding unless we keep pressure on it.”

Ichigo pulled out shears, slicing through Uryuu’s filthy scrub top. As he listened to Uryuu’s shallow breathing, Ichigo saw dark bruises over Uryuu’s ribs, and he swallowed back a string of curses. Under the bright lights of the clinic, Uryuu’s wounds appeared even worse than before, and Ichigo had to take a breath to steady himself.

“Shit! They shot the hell out of him…” Renji’s hand gripped the hilt of his zanpaktou. “Just wait till we find those bastards.”

Uryuu’s chest already bore the mark of the Quincy star over his heart, and there were faint white traces on his arms and shoulder from his fight with Mayuri. The Winter War had earned him twin scars on his abdomen and back, where Ichgio’s zanpaktou had run him through. Ichigo had hated himself for the damage he’d inflicted, but Uryuu had made him touch the scars, feeling the muscle move beneath the pale healed skin, and made him understand what forgiveness was. Seeing these marks, both earned and survived, marred yet again by a flurry of arrow wounds, made Ichigo sick.

Moving Uryuu from the alley to the clinic had increased the bleeding, and Ichigo felt the pressure of being the only medical authority in the room. “We need to clean these wounds and keep the bleeding under control. I’m going to have to suture them one by one.”

Ichigo turned around to grab a suture kit from the cabinet, but he stopped suddenly when a pair of wooden sandals clacked loudly on the tiled floor.

“You can’t close those wounds until you get the poison out.”

“Urahara-san!” Rukia had never looked so pleased to see the former Shinigami captain. “How did you find us?”

“Ichigo is never terribly difficult to find,” Urahara said, coming to sit on one of the wheeled clinic stools. “Ukitake-san told me where to find you two.”

Renji frowned. “What were you doing in Soul Society?”

“I’m not banished anymore, exactly,” Urahara said, and he started to explain exactly what that meant, but Ichigo interrupted him.

“What the hell do you mean by poison?”

“I mean that the spirit arrows used against Ishida-san were laced with spells, and they are poison. That’s why they’re bleeding, and he’ll need more than your mortal medicine if he’s going to survive.” Urahara reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a small vial. “You have a syringe, yes?”

Though there were times Urahara’s potions weren’t always benign, Ichigo hoped for Uryuu’s sake that this time the medicine would do as he described. After injecting the contents of the vial into the IV, Ichigo watched in surprise as Uryuu’s breathing began to steady and his heart rate stabilized. The wounds, now bereft of their poison, even started to close.

“Urahara-san,” Ichigo said, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know how to thank you. If you hadn’t come here, I don’t know—“

“Don’t thank me yet,” Urahara said softly, peering at Uryuu from beneath his striped hat.

Uryuu’s body moved slightly, and his fingers flexed at his sides. Ichigo took one of his hands, speaking softly. “It’s okay, Uryuu. You’re safe.”

One of Uryuu’s eyes opened, and he let out a weak groan. “Where am I?”

“You’re at the clinic. I couldn’t take you to the hospital. Don’t worry—Urahara’s here, and Rukia and Renji, and—“

Uryuu tried to lift his head, squinting without his glasses. “I’m where?”

“Don’t try to move. We took you to my dad’s clinic.”

A strange, bewildered expression came over Uryuu’s face as he continued to stare at Ichigo, pulling his hand away roughly. “Who the hell are you?”

Ichigo’s stomach clenched, his elation evaporating. “You know who I am.”

Uryuu squinted again, puzzled. “You’re that orange-haired guy. I know I’ve see you around…I can never remember names for interns outside of cardio.”

“You don’t remember Ichigo?” Rukia said, rising to her feet.

Wincing, Uryuu pressed a hand to his chest. “God, this hurts…what happened to me?”

“You don’t know?” Ichigo asked softly.

“I worked a double to cover the snowstorm, and after that it gets hazy.” He looked down at his chest, wincing. “Did I get shot?”

“It’s… not as bad as it looks.” Ichigo’s mouth tasted like wool. He spun, wetting his dry lips before he spoke. “Urahara, what the fuck was in that vial?”

“Who are you talking to?” Uryuu asked.

“It wasn’t the medicine. He can’t see us, Ichigo-san. He can’t access any of his spiritual powers.” Urahara took a breath, leaning on his cane. “I was afraid of this.”

“What do you mean? You knew this might happen?” Ichigo said, suddenly aware that Uryuu was now staring at him with more than a little concern.

“Are you on drugs?” Uryuu shook his head at him. “Why am I not at the hospital?”

Urahara stood, walking over to where Uryuu lay, and he raised his hand over Uryuu’s head. “Step back,” he said, and Rukia and Renji did.

“What are you doing?” Ichigo moved closer, but was nearly pushed to his knees by a sudden powerful wave of reiatsu.

The alarm on Uryuu’s monitor beeped shrilly for about ten seconds, and then stopped, the screen displaying a slow, normal rhythm. Ichigo straightened, shaking off the aftershock of Urahara’s reiatsu. “What the hell was that? Are you trying to kill him?” He checked over Uryuu, glaring at Urahara. “He’s unconscious!”

Urahara grinned, and Ichigo fought back the urge to punch him in the face. “It was necessary to find out the state of Ishida-san’s powers. They’re no longer within his body, but they do exist somewhere, and he’s still connected to them by a very thin thread. This is good news!” He rocked back and forth in a self-congratulatory manner on his sandals. “His captors attempted to steal his powers, and he sealed them off, making sure they couldn’t access them, or his memories of using them.”

“So his powers are…somewhere,” Ichigo said, “and his memories are with them?”

“They’re tied together, so any memories related to being a Quincy are missing, or has been otherwise altered to keep him from remembering.”

Renji crossed his arms over his chest. “So even if he could see us…”

“He wouldn’t know who we were,” Rukia said softly.

Ichigo watched the slow rise and fall of Uryuu’s chest. “So how are we supposed to help him get his powers back? Can we track them somehow?”

“If I had the ability to track them, you can bet the Quincy who took him would be able to find them as well.” Urahara raised his eyebrows. “What Ishida-san did was brilliant, to be sure, but he’s the only one who knows where his powers are now.”

“And he doesn’t even know he has powers, let alone where he might have hidden them.” Ichigo covered his eyes with one hand. “Fuck.”

“You should know this,” Urahara said, his jovial expression gone. “The thread binding Ishida-san to his powers is weak. If it severs, there will be no way to reclaim his powers.”

“But he’ll be all right. Even if that happens, he’s lost his powers before, and he was okay.” Ichigo looked at Urahara warily. “Right?”

“Since he regained his Quincy abilities, Ishida-san’s soul is directly linked to his powers, threaded through the fiber of him. Without them, he will not survive.” Urahara had the grace to glance away.

Ichigo stood, shoving down every ounce of concern and fear. There would be time to deal with emotions later; all that mattered was saving Uryuu. “Okay. Then we’ll get his powers back, and we’ll start right now.”

**  
 _Do not assume the next of kin is either willing or able to take responsibility for your patient. While it is your legal obligation to contact them, do not expect them to make your job any easier._

“Do you have any idea what time it is in London, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo held the phone slightly away from his ear. “Yes, Ishida-senpai.”

“Is the hospital on fire?”

“No, Ishida-senpai.”

“Have you finally gone around the bend like your father and become a witless waste of organs?”

“Ishida-senpai, it’s about Uryuu.” Ichigo took a long breath, trying to find the shortest way to explain all that had happened, but the moment he said the word ‘Quincy,’ Ryuuken cut him off.

“Don’t speak to me about Quincy. I don’t want to hear another word.”

“But Uryuu—“

“He chose his path years ago. He is a fool, just like my father. If he insists on using his powers, then I can do little to stop him, but he will face the consequences of his actions alone.”

“The Quincy abducted him! They—“

Ryuuken scoffed. “He’s been getting missives from them for months. Didn’t he tell you? Letters. Summons. He ignored them, and they’re not the sort you should ignore. He wouldn’t meet with them because of you, and so, they’ve taken matters into their own hands.”

Ichigo felt his breath falter. He didn’t remember letters…Uryuu had taken over the recycling awhile back, so Ichigo didn’t sort the mail… “He’s your son.”

“He ignored his father’s advice and took yours instead. I suggest you figure it out, Kurosaki.”

The line went dead, and Ichigo closed his phone, walking slowly back into the examination room of the clinic. “Ryuuken doesn’t have any ideas for us,” he said.

Rukia looked up from taping gauze over the cut on Uryuu’s forehead. She’d bandaged the burns on his neck and wrists as well, and Ichigo could smell the potent ointment Urahara had provided. “He hung up on you, didn’t he?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m hoping my other idea will pan out.” Ichigo adjusted Uryuu’s IV, and checked his vitals again. “He’s really out. Are you sure your reiatsu trick didn’t put him in a coma?”

Urahara shrugged. “Only temporarily.” He sat forward on his stool, making a pleased sound. “And here’s Renji.”

Renji banged on the door, and he strained over the threshold with tote bags filled with books. “You could have freaking helped me, you know,” he said, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor as he glared at Urahara. “These weigh a ton.”

“You’re good at hauling things. If the whole Captain prospect doesn’t work out for you eventually, I would consider hiring you.” Urahara smiled.

“Thank you, Renji,” Ichigo said, picking up a bag. “So like I explained, these are Soken’s journals. They’re pretty much the only thing that’s left of the Quincy’s history, at least as far as I know. Uryuu stole them from the training grounds under the hospital, and I guess no one noticed.”

Urahara picked up a book, running his fingers over the cover. “The books have been masked slightly; there is a little bit of power in the paper that makes you _not_ want to look at them. Ingenious.”

Ichigo sighed. “Whatever. Let’s just all take a bag and get started. If you read anything you think might be useful, shout it out.”

The clinic grew quiet, save for the sound of Uryuu’s heart monitor and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above. Yesterday all he’d wanted was Uryuu back, but he never envisioned this. He sat on a stool at Uryuu’s side, pausing from time to time to check on him. His temperature was close to normal now, and his blood pressure wasn’t quite as dangerously low as it had been, but his pulse and breathing grew more and more erratic. Smoothing a hand over Uryuu’s hair, he pressed a kiss there, wishing everyone else would just disappear and that Uryuu would wake up and remember everything, and that the Quincy who caught him would die grisly, prolonged deaths.

They read for hours, and every so often one of them would read a passage from Soken’s long-winded explanations of Quincy tradition. Renji kept muttering about paperwork he could have caught up instead of doing Quincy homework, but Rukia politely elbowed him in the ribs. Urahara, for his part, kept making his own notes from the journals, but Ichigo yelled at him and told him if he wanted to do Quincy research, perhaps he should start with Mayuri’s notes about all of Ishida’s murdered relatives. Urahara put his pen away.

Ichigo rubbed his eyes, putting down the sixth journal he’d read thus far. Looking around at all the journals, he realized it was utterly possible they’d be in this room for days to get through them all, and that was only if the Shinigami were willing to stay and help. There was simply a huge amount of information to slog through, and with every passing hour, the rhythm of Uryuu’s heart became more and more unstable. This kind of work made him crazy; he wanted to fight, to track down the bastards that hurt Uryuu and make them bleed. Reading cramped handwriting from some old man about tea ceremonies and pride and archery lessons made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

“Guys,” Rukia said quietly, pushing herself up from her prone position on the floor. “Guys, listen to this: _Mamorou is joining the battle, against my advice. He is young and reckless, and refuses to see reason. I helped him create a kiokuya, which he will leave with his beloved. The kiokuya will only restore him if he comes back alive, which I doubt very much, though it saddens me to say. We have lost too many of our youth…I fear for our future.”_ Rukia scanned down the page, her voice getting louder as she read. “There’s more. _I know too much now to create a kiokuya of my own. If I am captured, so be it. I will not break. My body will give out before I can betray my kind. I tried to teach my son, but he refuses to learn. I will teach my grandson, if the gods let us survive so long, so that he may give it to his beloved in turn.”_

“What’s a kiokuya?” Renji said, looking over Rukia’s shoulder to read her journal.

Urahara made a soft sound. “A memory arrow. So they can create a temporary home for their powers and memories should they be captured in battle. It’s utter genius.”

“But…” Ichigo sighed, exasperation and exhaustion warring for dominance. “It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t have any arrow. He never gave me anything like that.”

“You’re sure?” Rukia read over the passage again, shaking her head. “Maybe it doesn’t look like an arrow. Maybe it looks like an everyday object?”

“Quincy don’t use real arrows. They make them out of reishi.” Ichigo pressed his fingertips against his temples, his head pounding. “So Uryuu’s memories are trapped inside some invisible spirit particle arrow that’s floating around in the fucking ether somewhere?”

Urahara shook his head. “If the kiokuya were simply floating in the reishi, it would be accessible to any Quincy. It must exist in such a way that only one Quincy—the beloved—can utilize it.”

“But there is no beloved Quincy—there’s just me, a fucked up Shinigami hybrid, so what the hell am I supposed to do?” Ichigo realized he was shouting, but it felt good, so he didn’t stop. “This is all your fault. Fucking Soul Society and your stupid fucking rules! Killing so many fucking Quincy that they’ll resort to torturing their own people just to figure out how to get revenge. It’s insane!” He took a steadying breath, aware that all three Shinigami were watching him with bewildered expressions. “That’s it. I’m done with this shit. We’re going after these fucking Quincy, and we’re getting them to fix Uryuu.”

Ichigo moved to stand up, but he was rather surprised when his legs gave way beneath him, and even more surprised when his head made sharp contact with the tiled clinic floor.

**  
 _All surgical interns are expected to work 80 hours per week, with overnight call every third night. In an ideal world, we’d stop at 80, but we never do. We simply can’t._

Ichigo opened his eyes, staring up into a stormy sky. He blinked, waiting for his surroundings to come into focus. A steady rain fell, clinging to his skin and clothes.

“Took you long enough.”

Lifting his head, Ichigo saw Zangetsu standing nearby, his ubiquitous cloak billowing in wind Ichigo didn’t feel. “What am I doing here?”

“You blacked out. What did you expect? You haven’t slept or eaten for days.”

“I’ve had a lot going on.” Ichigo felt his dizziness start to subside, and he tested his limbs. “I’ve blacked out before and not ended up here. You pulled me in.”

“I did indeed.”

Ichigo stood up, unsurprised when the world shifted and put the clouds under his feet, though somehow the rain didn’t stop. “I can’t stay here. I need to get back. Uryuu’s in trouble.”

“You speak as if I’m not aware of these matters.” Zangetsu’s voice seemed almost mocking, and Ichigo felt his anger rise.

“Since you already know all about it, just send me back already. We can have some quality time when you know, Uryuu’s not dying, okay?”

Zangetsu peered at Ichigo from over his dark lenses. “If I wasn’t concerned for the Quincy, you wouldn’t be here.”

Ichigo stopped himself from making the rude comment already formed on his tongue. “What are you saying?”

“How many humans have you attacked since you learned my name?”

Ichigo frowned, unsure where this line of questioning might go. “Just one.”

“Did it ever occur to you that Quincy might also have an inner world, just as the one Shigami  
possess?”

“I…no. Uryuu never said anything like that.”

“Since that has not occurred to you, then you certainly haven’t considered that if you run a Quincy through and leave the blade in place that I myself might not be drawn into such an inner world, given the nature of their powers.” Zangetsu held Ichigo’s gaze. “I spoke with Ishida Uryuu on that day before the War ended, and I have spoken with him since.”

Ichigo felt his breath stutter in his chest. “When I stabbed Uryuu, he…talked to you?”

“Such a thing has not happened in ages, but both of your powers are rather on the unusual side.”

“But how the hell do you talk now? I mean, now that you’re not…impaling him.”

“Once inside another’s inner world, it is possible to revisit that world. He, however, made  
the first contact, and that is why I’ve brought you here. He left instructions with me.”

 _My fucking zanpaktou is taking messages for me from my boyfriend._ “I’m listening.”

“The kiokuya you’re looking for,” Zangetsu said, holding out his hand, “has been safe with me.”

The air above Zangetsu’s palm pulsed with blue light, almost taking shape but refusing to commit to solid form. “I don’t understand. Why did he give it to you?”

Zangetsu laughed, a harsh sound. “Did you think your human form would be able to contain this?” He stepped closer to Ichigo, cupping the kiokuya. “The Shinigami have always felt themselves superior to Quincy, but the dead always think themselves better than the living. You can’t conceive of what this power feels like, because it is nothing like yours.”

“How am I supposed to use it then?”

“The kiokuya is normally given to another Quincy. Since you are not one, Ishida is relinquishing a small portion of his powers to you, so that you may use it.”

Ichigo scoffed. “He’s making me a temporary Quincy.”

“Exactly.”

“That didn’t work out so well for me before with Rukia.”

Zangetsu made an indifferent sound. “Depends on your point of view, I suppose.”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“I agree,” Zangetsu said, “but he would not be dissuaded.”

Sighing, Ichigo wiped rain from his forehead. ”So, what, I’m supposed to shoot him or something?”

A small smile appeared on Zangetu’s face. “The Quincy are not without their strange quirks. At least in your case you already have a target to aim for.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Zangetsu drew an invisible star over his chest with his free hand. “Just aim for the center of the Quincy star.”

“He’s dying. I can’t shoot him in the heart!”

Zangetsu shook his head. “You have to. And according to Uryuu, he needs to be awake.”

“I’m not a fucking archer. Did he mention anything about that?”

“He had one piece of advice: don’t miss. Otherwise you’ll kill him.”

“Why didn’t he just tell me about everything from the beginning?” Ichigo closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he could go back in time. He would have called in sick that day. He would have stopped the Quincy himself. “This never should have happened.”

“Time is running out. You need to act.”

Ichigo drew in a long breath, straightening up. “You’re right. I have to get back.” He held out his hand. “I’m ready to accept the kiokuya.”

Zangetsu folded his hand, and when he opened it, a silver bracelet appeared, a thin cross dangling from its edge. “You need to be in your human form to use this. His powers will engage once you put it on, but you only have one shot, so use it well.”

**

_Surgery is calm in the middle of a storm. It must be. It is controlled chaos. It is the act of wounding in order to heal. It is an act of utter trust, where one human says to another, I will allow you to cut my flesh so that I may be well again._

Ichigo opened his eyes, staring up at the drop-floor clinic ceiling. He felt the silver bracelet in his hand, aware of how easily he could crush its fragile construction.

“Ichigo!” Rukia leaned over him, relief in her voice. “Are you all right?”

His head swam for a moment as he sat up, but he nodded. “Is Uryuu…”

Renji offered Ichigo a hand, pulling him to his feet. “He’s not good. Urahara’s been doing all he can, but…”

Ichigo looked to where Uryuu lay, his pale skin slick with sweat. His eyes moved restlessly under closed lids, and his breath came fast and shallow. “Urahara,” Ichigo said, laying a hand on Uryuu’s chest, feeling the frantic beating of his heart, “I need you to wake him.”

The Shinigami clicked his tongue. “He’s in very bad shape. If I try, he may not survive it.”

“If we don’t, he’s going to die anyway.” Ichigo held up the kiokuya. “Zangetsu had it.  
Uryuu’s giving me enough of his power to make the shot to bring him back.”

Rukia narrowed her eyes at him. “Shinigami can’t wield Quincy powers.”

“Humans who are substitute Shinigami can. At least Uryuu thinks so.” Ichigo waved them closer. “Renji, Rukia—I need you to hold him upright for me once Urahara wakes him. Hold him steady. I only get one chance.”

Urahara stood next to Uryuu, tipping up his hat slightly. “Are you sure about this, Ichigo-san?”

“He put his trust in me. What else can I do?” Ichigo held the bracelet in one hand, preparing to put it over his other wrist. He gave a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

Urahara lifted his hand over Uryuu, and immediately his reiatsu filled the space, the pressure making Ichigo’s teeth ache. For a moment, there was no sound, and then Uryuu let out a scream, his body writhing in pain.

“Now!“

Renji and Rukia didn’t hesitate, each taking one side as they hauled Uryuu off the bed, holding him upright. Uryuu moaned, his head lolling against his chest before he lifted it, and his gaze finally focused on Ichigo.

“Please…let me go,” he whispered, struggling weakly against arms and hands he could not see.

Ichigo slipped the bracelet over his left wrist, and he felt a surge of power flow through him and out of him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before; the room seemed to pulse with energy, and he could feel the Shinigami, he could sense their raw reiatsu crackling across the air. It was like seeing the world anew, and for a moment, it was all he could do not to open himself up to this power, to soak up every spiritual particle and twist them into whatever he pleased. It was shocking, and it was thrilling, and he didn’t want to move lest the feeling stop.

“What are you doing? ” Uryuu’s voice broke, and his body shuddered, straining to free himself.

“Ichigo!” Rukia shouted, “Hurry!”

He’d wondered before this moment how he would know how to create a bow. There was no need to consider this; the bow simply was. It appeared in his hand without more than a thought, and the bow felt right, the way Zangetsu felt right, as if his hand had been created to hold it. He lifted it, aware that he was drawing the power through himself, and not pushing it out, and he almost laughed at the utter strangeness of this act. Holding the bow aloft, he lined up the cross with the center of the Quincy star burned into Uryuu’s chest.

“Please…just let me go!” Uryuu screamed, and Ichigo hesitated, watching the Quincy star heave with Uryuu’s desperate gasps.

_19 mm to the right of the heart…_

He pulled the bow back, aware of the spirit arrow appearing in his opposite hand. He aimed again and drew, taking in every ounce of power, knowing he would never understand Uryuu better than he would in this single moment.

And released.

There was no twang, no reverberation of string, only the swift, fleeting cry escaping Uryuu’s mouth as the arrow struck home.

Ichigo fell to his knees, power bleeding out of him as the bracelet turned to ash, falling from his wrist. He collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. His vision wavered, and he tried to push himself up on his elbows, refusing to lose consciousness.

Rukia and Renji had eased Uryuu onto the floor, their expressions unreadable. Ichigo crawled to his side, feeling sick as he watched a thin plume of smoke rise from Uryuu’s chest. The leads for his heart monitor had come undone, and the screen displayed a series of question marks. “Uryuu…”

Ichigo pressed his fingers to Uryuu’s throat, trying to find a pulse. “He’s not breathing…he’s…” He got into position to start CPR, wondering briefly if any of the Shinigami knew how to assist.

Urahara put a hand lightly on Ichigo’s shoulder. “Give him a minute.”

It was the antithesis of everything he’d ever been taught, but Ichigo relented, letting his shaky hands come to rest on Uryuu’s chest. If the kiokuya didn’t restore him, no human medicine would. He knelt beside him, nearly undone by the peaceful expression on Uryuu’s face.

Suddenly, for a brief moment, Ichigo felt the most insignificant brush of spiritual pressure against his own. He looked at the other Shinigami, wondering if they’d felt anything. Beneath his fingertips, something stirred, and he felt the faint beat of Uryuu’s heart, even as he heard a rasping intake of breath.

“He’s alive,” Ichigo said, his throat burning, brushing his hand across Uryuu’s face. “It worked. You’re alive!”

Uryuu’s eyes opened slowly, and he looked up at Ichigo, a faint smile crossing his lips. “Good shot,” he whispered. He lifted a trembling hand, and Ichigo took it, threading their fingers together.

“You can see them, right?” Ichigo asked tentatively, inclining his head towards the Shinigami.

“I don’t have to see them. I’d know their reiatsu anywhere.” He gave a brief nod in their direction. “Renji. Rukia. Urahara-san. Thank you.”

“I can’t believe you’re back. I thought I’d lost you,” Ichigo said softly, “I really did.” He kissed Uryuu’s knuckles, savoring the warmth of Uryuu’s skin against his lips. “God, I missed you.”

“I wanted to tell you…about Zangetsu,” Uryuu murmured.

“We figured it out in the end.” Ichigo paused for a moment to steady his voice. “We’re going to find those piece of shit Quincy that hurt you. I promise you.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ryuuken.” Uryuu blinked, looking over at the Shinigami. “You can’t feel him? Urahara-san?” Urahara shrugged, and Renji and Rukia looked similarly puzzled. “He’s back in Karakura. He thinks he hides his reiatsu so well, but it’s not perfect.” Uryuu closed his eyes, waiting a moment. “There’s been a fight.”

“I called him! He told me I was on my own to save you!”

“You were, as far as the kiokuya was concerned.” Uryuu shook his head. “It’s over. It was never your fight, Ichigo. Quincy have to settle their own disputes.”

“Someone has to hold them accountable for what they did!”

“Trying to take someone’s powers is within the realm of capital offence among Quincy. There will be justice.”

Ichigo scoffed. “If someone hurts you, then that makes it my fight.”

“You did fight for me. And you saved me.” His free hand stroked Ichigo’s arms, stopping for a moment over Ichigo’s right forearm where a large purple bruise was forming. “That’s bad form. You need to keep your elbow out next time.”

Ichigo pulled his arm away from Uryuu’s probing fingers. “If by next time you mean never, then I’ll keep that in mind.”

**

_First, do no harm. It’s supposed to be our mantra, our litany. We do cause harm, though; we cut and we sever and sometimes the damage we do is irreversible. It all comes down to whether or not the harm we cause will be outweighed by good._

It snowed again the first night he came home.

Uryuu lay beneath blankets and a down comforter, his ankles intertwined with Ichigo’s. Wind gusted outside their windows, swirling the snow up against their building, muffling the sounds of the outside world. It was a perfect sort of quiet, and for a long time there was only the sound of the wind and their breathing.

They’d ordered takeout before the storm started, and Ichigo served him dinner in bed. They ate noodles and shrimp in their pajamas, and watched a crappy old movie on the dilapidated set Ichigo inherited from his father. There had been a single text message from Ryuuken: **Back from London. You are both excused until Monday.**

Ichigo’s hand strayed over Uryuu’s skin, and he smiled at Ichigo’s warm touch. His fingers traced Uryuu’s bare chest, skirting the Quincy star.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Uryuu said quietly.

“You’re a fast healer,” Ichigo said, his fingertips getting braver as they drew closer to the center. “I can’t believe I gave you another scar. I swore I would never hurt you again after what happened in Las Noches.”

Uryuu smiled faintly. “If you hadn’t, then I never would have spoken to Zangetsu, and I never would have survived this.”

Ichigo sighed, shaking his head. “That logic’s pretty shitty: it’s good that you stabbed me because otherwise I never would have lived through you shooting me in the heart.”

“It’s Quincy logic.”

“It’s fucked up.”

Uryuu leaned into his touch, pressing closer to his side. “You should be proud. No one’s used a kiokuya in at almost twenty years.”

“So the whole tradition was to give them to the beloved, huh?”

“Exactly. They’d keep it safe.”

“Don’t you think it’s bizarre that you’re asking the person you love to fucking shoot you?”

Uryuu shrugged. “Only the person that loves you is willing to take the risk to get you back.”

Ichigo remained quiet for several moments as he pondered this, and in his typical style, he kept his thoughts to himself. “Being a Quincy for that whole two minutes was crazy,” he said softly. “I always knew how powerful you were, but…let’s just say that I’m glad I’m not your enemy.”

“Well, not anymore.”

Ichigo smiled, pressing kisses against Uryuu’s shoulder, throat, temple. “If Shinigami had something like a kiokuya, I hope you know I’d give it to you.”

“Very sweet sentiment,” Uryuu said, “but I don’t think Zangetsu would much go for that. Me, wield a zanpaktou?”

“You’d look good with a sword.” Ichigo grinned. “We could spar. It would be hot.”

“I prefer my weapons long-range.” Uryuu kissed Ichigo’s collarbone, taking in the scent of him. “And we can spar. But you won’t like it because I’ll win.”

“You cheat. I’m saying zanpaktou versus zanpaktou. It would be awesome.”

“Can you imagine? Ryuuken would fall down stone dead if I ever picked up a Shinigami weapon.”

“Speaking of, he gave us days off until Monday. Do you think it’s a trap?”

Uryuu laughed, wincing a bit as his still-healing ribs protested. “I think he knows I can’t even stand up for more than twenty minutes yet.”

“True. You really need to take it easy.” Ichigo smoothed a hand over Uryuu’s hair, his touch light and comforting. It was strange that hands like his, ones that could take down Aizen himself, could be so gentle. “This is the only thing I wanted, you know. When you were lying there in the clinic, I just wanted this. Just you and me and this bed, and me knowing that you were going to be okay.”

Uryuu closed his eyes, feeling the delicious warmth of Ichigo’s skin touching his own in a dozen places. “I’m alive, I know who I am, and I have you to fix me tea until I can get out bed and do it myself. I’d say that’s pretty close to okay.”

Ichigo pressed his lips near Uryuu’s ear. “Beloved, huh? Who would have thought Quincy could be so romantic?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I love you too, you know.”

Uryuu smiled faintly. “I do.”


End file.
